


We Were Young Together

by MissVoltara



Series: The Soldier and The Priest [4]
Category: Journal d'un curé de campagne | The Diary of a Country Priest - Georges Bernanos
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Catholic, Catholic Character, Catholic Guilt, Character Death, Death, Forbidden, Forbidden Love, France (Country), Gay, Grief/Mourning, M/M, Major Illness, Priests, Wakes & Funerals
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-09
Updated: 2021-02-09
Packaged: 2021-03-18 15:34:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,726
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29245884
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissVoltara/pseuds/MissVoltara
Summary: Olivier mourns for his lost love.
Relationships: Priest of Ambricourt/Monsieur Olivier
Series: The Soldier and The Priest [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2143953
Kudos: 1





	We Were Young Together

**Author's Note:**

> More angst to end this series.

Olivier sat on the front stoop of his cottage, smoking a cigarette. He thought sitting outside in the sunshine would make him feel better but it did little to improve his mood. He watched the occasional pedestrian or vehicle pass by with indifference. A cyclist whizzed past and he was abruptly reminded of Cure de Ambricourt and their short-lived tryst.

He had gotten a letter while in Morocco from an unknown woman named Madame Philomene, who turned out to be the sickly priest's Aunt. At first he thought there must have been some mistake but curiosity overtook him and he opened and read the letter.

His beloved priest had died in February at the presbytery a scant two months after Olivier had left France. He became incapacitated in the last few weeks of his life and was unable to care for himself so his Aunt Philomene and a cousin had traveled to look after him. The cancer had finally taken his life one evening when Cure de Torcy had come to see his ill colleague. After supper, the young priest vomited blood and collapsed into his bed for the last time. He was sweaty and delirious but clutched his Rosary to his chest and asked for absolution which Cure de Torcy was able to give him.

 _My nephew spoke highly of you_ , Mme. Philomene had wrote. _He told us how kind and thoughtful you were._ _I keenly regret that you were unable to attend his wake and funeral._

Olivier regretted his absence from the priest's funeral as well but there was no way for him to have made it there in time nor could he just get up and leave his post. He came home on leave in the spring and nearly refused his uncle and cousin's invitation to visit them at the Chateau. The presbytery was within sight of the Chateau and Olivier didn't think he had it within himself to see the priest's former home. Even so, to maintain social decorum, Olivier went and avoided looking down the road at the house that was occupied by a priest was definitely _not_ his beloved.

He had gone with his uncle and cousin Chantal to Mass though he certainly wasn't religious and had grown to find it repulsive. The new priest was a few years older than his predecessor and had a social and friendly disposition. His uncle and cousin liked him more than the deceased priest and readily voiced their opinions to Olivier. Their disapproval and outright disdain of the former Cure de Ambricourt always irritated Olivier but with the priest dead, the soldier could no longer tolerate such slanderous talk. They at least had the good tact to not gossip about the deceased to the new priest.

Even so, he imagined striking his relatives and relished the image. He restrained himself though and quietly left the church and joined his uncle and cousin for lunch before he went home and laid in bed, angry and in tears for the remainder of the day.

Mme. Philomene had given Olivier her address and the location of her nephew's grave. He had gotten up early one morning towards the end of his leave, hopped on his motor-bike and made the long drive to Mme. Philomene's house. The priest had been buried in the churchyard of his home parish among other clergymen and religious sisters but his gravestone was as simple of a stone that one could afford, given his family's poverty. 

Mme. Philomene had recently put a flower wreath on the priest's grave when Olivier had come. Standing alone with the priest's grave, Olivier was appalled to learn that his priest was by far the youngest out of all the clergymen and religious sisters that he had been buried next to. Olivier was unsure of what to believe when it came to God and religion and wondered what was the point of killing such a young priest. He hadn't even been a priest for very long either and that fact left a rock in Olivier's stomach. It seemed so maliciously cruel to the soldier that his beloved had died so young after a life of hardship.

The priest's aunt was a lovely woman. She was a widow and her own children were all she had left. She explained that after the priest's mother had died, she stepped in to help his father raise him. She and her brother-in-law had worked hard to sponsor the priest so he could attend seminary and it was her who would occasionally send the priest money. She didn't know just how cruel the residents of Ambricourt were to her nephew and the soldier would never tell. 

At least someone else had loved the priest.

Mme. Philomene would never know just how deeply infatuated Olivier was with her nephew upon their meeting that day on his motor-bike. After all, good Catholics aren't supposed to seduce their parish priest. The priest's gentle, quiet and unassuming nature appealed to Olivier greatly and the young cleric occupied his thoughts for the weeks that followed their encounter. Seeing the kind of people the priest was raised by, it made sense that the priest would be so innocent and sensitive. Olivier could never tell Mme. Philomene the full truth of his feelings for her nephew but he assured her that he was dear to him.

Olivier had been worried that the priest would never take up his invitation. He had enjoyed the other man's company immensely but worried that the priest would stay away after they had kissed. Seeing the priest at his front door was certainly a welcome surprise. Olivier hadn't intended to take the cleric to bed with him but he certainly wasn't going to complain about the outcome of the priest's visit. Quite the opposite. 

The priest had stayed overnight and waking up to the young cleric in his bed was as closest to Heaven as Olivier thought that he was going to get. They made love again before they had gotten up and dressed. The priest lingered for breakfast and valiantly tried to eat what Olivier had made for them to eat but could barely stomach anything beyond some toast and a few sips of tea. The priest and Olivier wouldn't see each other again for a proper visit and despite the priest's claim that he should go home, he was in no rush to leave. 

Olivier had come by the presbytery to give the priest two hundred francs on his last day in Ambricourt. He wanted the priest to at least have some money to help him with his most pressing needs, as one last kindness that could be done for him. The priest had stubbornly refused and argued with him at first but reluctantly took the money in the end.

A year had passed since then and now Olivier was home for good. 

Bored with sitting outside, Olivier put his cigarette out and threw it away before he headed back inside. A part of him was happy to be back in familiar territory but he sorely wished his lover had lived. Sure, if he had then they would have had to live double lives but at least they would be together, at least the priest would still be here.

Mme. Philomene had given the priest's diary to him. This confused Olivier as he couldn't fathom why she would give away something that was so personal to her nephew. She had a knowing look on her face when she gave diary to him and gently pressed the book into Olivier's hands, clearly not taking 'no' for an answer.

He kept the diary in his room, hidden away in the drawer of his bedside table. He hadn't bothered taking it with him back to Morocco and had stowed it away in his room, hoping that the snoopy housekeeper or his cousin Chantal wouldn't try to rummage through his things when they came to check in on the cottage. 

Some pages had been torn out while several paragraphs had been blotted out with ink and it was difficult to tell when the priest had damaged his diary. Maybe he had censored his diary before he had lost his faculties completely. He had written about the day that Olivier had given him a ride on his motor-bike and even the day he had come to visit Olivier. The soldier was surprised to find those passages intact, especially with how unfailingly honest he had been about it. The priest had been torn between self-loathing for sinning against God and a blossoming love for Olivier and had wrote about it all.

No wonder Mme. Philomene had such an odd look on her face when she gave the dairy to Olivier. She knew their secret. Her love for her nephew seemed to override whatever disdain or disapproval she might feel for what Olivier and him had shared. Perhaps she thought there was no use in bringing the issue up. The priest was dead and the ones who loved him must move on.

Olivier sat on his bed and took the diary out, imagining the priest sitting down at his desk and frantically writing his thoughts out. He gently kissed the cover much like one would kiss a relic then felt silly for doing so. His hands began to tremble.

 _"I felt young, really young, with this companion who was as young as I. We were young together."_ The priest had wrote.

Olivier dropped the diary on the bed next to him before it could slip from his fingers and sniffled, trying his hardest not to cry. Funny how someone Olivier had known for a short time had left such an indelible mark on him.

_"I was never young because no one wanted to be young with me."  
_

Damn that priest for stealing his heart and then dying shortly after. Damn Ambricourt for being so poisonous and corrosive and damn his family for insulting the priest while he was alive. Damn him for even crossing paths with the priest in the first place. He couldn't hold back the tears any longer.

He sat alone with his thoughts, the priest's written words running through his mind.

_"I realize now that friendship can break out between two people, with that sudden violence which generally is only attributed to the revelation of love."_


End file.
